


Con Comforts

by Spoon888



Series: Twitter Warm Up Prompt Fills [14]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hugs, M/M, Starscream being Starscream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25878475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Feeling down? Hug a seeker. It's the Decepticon alternative to therapy.
Relationships: Megatron & Starscream (Transformers), Megatron/Starscream (Transformers)
Series: Twitter Warm Up Prompt Fills [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719604
Comments: 50
Kudos: 323





	Con Comforts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MlleMusketeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/gifts).



> For @mlle_musketeer on twitter

Starscream's field registered Megatron's dejected presence closing in behind him the second the larger mech lumbered into the room, his field sending out a flare of mild distress. 

That wordless warning was the _only_ reason Starscream didn't jab a quick elbow back to wind his assailant when two huge arms folded possessively around his middle. 

Typical. Why couldn't Megatron be considerate enough to schedule these emotional hiccups at the more convenient time? 

Hands flying over the keys of the console he was using to type a furious message to Shockwave, Starscream resisted the little tug on his waist that was Megatron trying to lure him away to ruin what had so far been a surprisingly productive day.

"I'm busy,'" he muttered dismissively. 

A second, firmer yank meant he had to grip the side of the computer to remain in place. His optics narrowed with focus on the screen in front of him as he punctuated his last sentence with an extra _three_ explanation points to show how serious he was over the matter of Shockwave sending him those much needed power converters. 

The arms tightened again, now invading personal space by pulling him flush against the wall of silver armour behind. Starscream stumbled but kept his grip on the console, fighting for focus as he tried to recall the insult he had thought up for Shockwave.

But the heat from Megatron's frame enveloped his wings pleasantly, and warm breath fluttered across the back of his neck as he was breathed on. He shrugged a little to loosen the hold on him, but Megatron held. 

"Was your creator a _space barnacle_?" Starscream growled, curving his back and twisting to subtly escape the attention when Megatron emitted a mournful rumble and pushed his nose against the side of Starscream's neck. 

Megatron breathed out against him with a long, deep, depressed sounding sigh. Mostly performative, but also fairly _needy_. Starscream enjoyed being _needed_.

"Megatron," he warned halfheartedly. "This is _important_ -"

Rough, worn fingers skidded across the glass of his cockpit, clutching at him with desperation, but not lust. Sensing a vastly more emotionally crisis he didn't want to have to deal with breaching the horizon, Starscream typed the remainder of the message as slowly as he could manage, delaying the inevitable. 

It was beyond him why Megatron sought out his council for matters of this nature in the first place. Were he plotting a raid, a battle, or the demise of a political opponent, then of course, Starscream was an expert in those subjects. But to bother him on emotional matters? Why seek comfort from someone with such woefully undeveloped empathy programming? He'd be much more successful appealing to Thundercracker's overinflated sense of sympathy. 

Before long even Starscream's ironclad grip on the console couldn't save him. 

Megatron readjusted his arms around him -this time trapping Starscream's arms against his sides- and lifted him away from the console, mid-typed sentence. 

"Wait!" Starscream kicked his legs in protest, and his heel accidentally skimmed across the keypad, leaving a trail of gibberish just before the electronic whoosh of a message being sent sounded. 

A 'Message Sent' icon lit up the screen. 

Starscream cursed all the way into the supply closet, a place he and Megatron tended to frequent for an entire rainbow of personal reasons, the most embarrassing of which being _this_ one- the collapse of Megatron's dignity and the subsequent horror of Starscream having to console him. It was one of few rooms on the upper levels that wasn't covered by Soundwave's surveillance cameras. 

The door sealed shut behind them, closing them into the tight, dark, space filled with cans and crates, most of which had been split or dented thanks to their previous, more animated visits.

Finally Starscream was free to turn and face Megatron, and the sight of him standing slumped in the dark sent an unpleasant, unidentifiable pang through Starscream's chest. 

Megatron's optics were narrow and angry, focused squarely on the ground at Starscream's pedes. The raid planned for that afternoon had fallen through after a catastrophic flood had injured two of the Stunticons, taking Menasor completely out of the picture. Now an entire building was flooded, they had barely fuel enough for half a ration each, and Decepticons had been needlessly injured. 

To say it had been a bad day was a vast understatement. 

"You're being pathetic," Starscream told him, because he ever knew what to do to snap Megatron out of these moods but to poke at him. "Distracting me from _my_ duties isn't going to put fuel in our stores, is it?" 

Megatron said nothing. He didn't even argue that Starscream's duties did not include harassing Shockwave into sourcing hardware for his experiments. 

His shoulders seemed to fall lower, his optics fainter, the glow they cast was so minuet, Starscream could barely make out his face in the dim. 

He stepped forward, hand outstretched, and felt the waves stress coming off his field. He hesitated, "Do you want me to fix this?" 

"I don't need you to fix this," Megatron's voice as rough and creaky, laced with a static whine.

Starscream wrung his claws together, proceeding carefully lest Megatron lost his composure and ensnared him in the sort of bear hug that always left him with bent wings. 

"Would you like me to distract you?" He offered. 

He meant interfacing of course. They were in the right supply closet for it. 

Megatron shook his head from side to side, slowly, as if ashamed of what he really wanted to ask for. 

Starscream wanted to shrivel up and die. "What do you want?" He ground out, regretting even asking. 

Megatron met his gaze. "I want to hold you." 

"You just _did_ hold me." He had the finger smudges on his cockpit to show for it. 

"No, that was merely to pull you aside, into here." Megatron met his gaze imploringly, with that endearingly forlorn look that Starscream would never resist. He should have looked away, covered his optics, voluntarily blinded himself with some of the chemicals in the closet. But he didn't. And he was struck by Megatron unashamed puppy-eyes. 

Arms opened. 

Utterly disgusted at Megatron for wanting it, at himself for allowing it, and at himself _again_ for secretly enjoying it so much, Starscream stepped into the embrace and was immediately squashed to Megatron's front, his hands trapped between their frames and his cheek pressed tightly to a smooth flat chestplate. He could feel Megatron's engine working under his palms, the rapid but slowing pulse of his spark under his cheek. He melted into it, his wings falling against his back as everything loosened and softened with a gentle but firm squeeze of strong arms. 

Megatron dropped his chin to the top of his helm, and Starscream decided to focus on the roll of fingers tracing circles across his lower back, rather than the indignity of his head being used as a chin rest. He extracted his arms from between them and lifted them in turn, knowing Megatron wouldn't let go unless he fully committed, and gave Megatron's solid armoured frame a quick squeeze before dropping his arms to his sides again. 

" ...Do you feel better yet?" Starscream's voice was muffled against his chest. 

He felt Megatron's rumble of agreement shudder through his frame, shooting tingles from his toes to his finger tips. "Almost." 

Arms tightened as Megatron bent at the neck to kiss the side of his helm. Starscream shuttered his optics and turned his face into the massive chest he was trapped against. 

So long as he pretended to hate it, he could still keep _his_ dignity.


End file.
